In My Empty Arms
by What About Today
Summary: This is America, Rox. I'm not going to waste my opprotinity." All Demyx ever wanted was something better than what he had in life. When he stumbles upon warring vampire tribes, everything he ever knew to be true will crash around his head. Will he make it
1. Chapter 1 The Dreamer

Disclaimer: Venom. Mine. Everyone else, nadda.

Welcome to "In My Empty Arms"! I'm your host/writer, WhatAboutToday!

Couple: ZexionXDemyx. WOO! for the Zemyx!

Warning: This is a Vampire fic, meaning blood is obvious and gore is likely. Character death is also likely (like- _really_ likely) so please don't kill me when it happens. My rating is mostly because I honestly don't know how one could possibly write about vampires for the reading of children. -sweatdrops- Any-who, onwards! XD (and enjoy)

_**In My Empty Arms**_

xXChapter One: The DreamerXx

He walked through the ever crowded streets of that dreaded city, glancing around him at the hoards of people, all eagerly awaiting midnight. He stood in the center of the square, surrounded and ignored, wondering vaguely what was so special about the night. _Surely_, all this commotion was not about the coming of the new century?

The lone man tutted at the foolishness of the humans, licking his dry lips agitatedly. "People, people everywhere, but not a drop to drink," he muttered to himself, shoving his way passed some young couples, arms laced together, preparing for the New Year. He released himself from the tight group hastily, feeling a migraine creep upon his being. He hardly watched where he walked, grumbling a little at the annoyance of it all.

He had seen the century turn before, and doubtlessly, it was really nothing special. All these little 'celebrations' did was to remind him of his 'sins' and the ages over which he had withered away into his current being. Feeding off of the souls of the humans… of the _normal_. It disgusted him.

Turning a corner, past a particularly dark alley, the fretting man halted abruptly, sniffing the air soundlessly. He turned, growling at the figure that now stood before him, light gracing enough features for recognition, although much of who it was remained shielded by the shadows of the evening street.

"Well, Hello, _Schemer_," She purred smirking at him devilishly. "Out of a little walk?" She stepped further into the light, revealing her immense beauty, and the identity the man had already known.

"Venom," Schemer hissed, mussels tensing of their own will, holding his ground ferociously.

Venom was a tall and beautiful woman, terror inducing as she was radiant. Her long hair was viciously straight and so black it was very nearly violet, long strands framing her narrow face. Vivid blue eyes, light enough to be considered silver glowed behind very thick eyelashes, brows arched delicately in what might have been perceived as curiosity or mirth, however taunting their radiance could be to young men. Her skin was a rich mahogany hue, creamlike and smooth, adding to her allure. She stood upright and proudly, smiling evilly through red-painted lips.

Schemer growled, not at all taken to the scene before him.

The smile widened. "Or are you celebrating the times… With a _feast_?" She whispered the final word, grinning purposefully, leaning in just enough to draw the man's attention to her costume.

Clothed in long, rather tight pants in a dark burgundy hue and a collared blouse top, unbuttoned to expose _just_ enough of her plentiful bosom, the dark woman looked enticingly flawless, yet heavily out of acceptable dress for the era.

Schemer sneered disdainfully. "You look ridiculous." He spat, glaring harshly when the woman chuckled.

"You like it?" she asked sarcastically. "I made it myself; preparing for the new times to come!"

"Women do not dress like _that_." Schemer protested. "Nor have they ever. You make a mockery of yourself."

She brushed off the comment with a wave of her hand. "I am hardly noticed."

Schemer scoffed, rolling his eyes, although but one of them was visible do to his very overgrown cobalt hued fringe, shielding the right side deep steel-blue orb from view entirely. He was a great contrast to the other in appearance, with porcelain-like very pale skin, and a round, almost youthful face. He dressed himself conservatively, in black slacks and a long coat, matching in hue, which allowed him to blend seamlessly with the people in the city.

"You deny that you are on the hunt?" She chided playfully, earning a stone hard glare from the other.

"It is not necessary to cleanse the streets on a daily basis, as I am certain you are fully aware."

Venom scoffed, rolling her eyes. "You act as though you don't enjoy yourself, but _I_ see, your full belly, your lust at the screams." She sighed temptingly. "You can hardly contain it. Have you made a choice for this evening's main course yet?"

Schemer frowned darkly. "You have picked a person?"

"Of course!" The woman exclaimed, her eyes flashing devilishly in the moonlight. "He's a young and handsome fellow of proper breeding. Nothing sweeter than the taste of the riches of a youthful life, raised far from the filthy streets." She licked her full lips in a longing sort of way that caused Schemer's stomach to turn unpleasantly. "Oh, but that's right," She continued wickedly, "You don't hunt for such luxurious meats anymore, do you?"

She cackled when he glared in another direction, grinding his teeth irately. "Why do you pester me so? Be gone." He demanded. "This is far from your territory in any case."

"Oh, you know we hardly hold to the laws of territory anymore. This is a new age! And a great one at that, what with steam power and everything. Are you not excitable?"

"Not in the least bit."

Venom sighed. "You were more fun before you went all 'noble'. What happened to, 'I'll bet you a gold piece I can make that girl scream louder than you can'?"

"I grew up." Schemer deadpanned. "I suggest you consider doing the same."

She rolled her glowing eyes. "I'm getting bored with you," An air of arrogant excitement came to her face a split second later, mirroring the ill thoughts her mind had envisioned. "Maybe that boy will be more excitable."

"No, Venom." Schemer commanded harshly. "You must _not_ turn a human for sport."

"Oh, yes," The woman spat, suddenly looking a bit more frightening and slightly less breathtaking than before. "Because that's what happened to you, isn't it? Just a little game, and now here you are, living off scum from the streets, preaching to others about the value of _humanity_." She brushed him off with a disdainful sound. "Well, you're preaching to the wrong choir. You can think as highly as you want of _them_, but it might just do you good to keep an eye on your own back as well. You think yourself a friend to the humans, but they will be the death of you. Mark my words."

Schemer hissed angrily, revealing razor-sharp fangs that glinted in the moonlight threateningly. Venom merely rolled her pretty eyes and faded back the way she came, off to find her prey no doubt, leaving the man to fume in the company of not but the night, the everlasting, agonizingly silent night.

xXTheDreamerXx

.:Twenty-Two Years Later:.

_Her screams went utterly overlooked as the creature came upon her, lodging it's already dripping fangs deep into her neck. It was only moments before she was silenced forever. The vampire stood slowly, licking its bloody lips, sucking on its crimson stained teeth, fangs glinting feverishly in the dully throbbing moonlight. _

_It hissed darkly at the corpse-_

"Demyx!"

The spoken to male jumped a foot off his bench, gasping at the call, his book flying into the air and landing with a _thump_ on the dingy table before him.

"Demyx, you crazy harp!" The boy's only friend, Roxas Hart, a small, young boy with unruly light blond hair, bright blue eyes, and pink cheeks sat down across the table from him, laughing at his friend's jittery behavior.

"Beat it, Rox!" Demyx Christopher whined, replacing the book to its home in his hands, shuffling through for his page. He was a relatively tall youth, at about twenty-one or so years of age, with a mess of unevenly cut sandy blond hair and shining sea-green eyes that stood out amazingly against the grime of oil and sweat from work.

Roxas sighed, wiping the sweat from his own dirty brow. "You read too many dime novels."

"At least I read." Demyx shot back instantly.

Roxas frowned. "What would ya' need to do that for? I don't need to read to work here." He gestured in the general direction of the metal building behind his friend.

"And you really plan to work here _forever_?"

The younger blond shrugged. "Who knows?" His attention moved to something lying on the table. He snatched it up, causing the other to jump and shout. Roxas ignored his friend pointedly to take a good look at the photograph. "Eh, not bad," He teased, "Who's this doll?"

"Don't hurt it, Rox!" Demyx pleaded of the picture.

"I won't rip it up." Roxas insisted lazily. "That's some getup she's in… And look at her gams!" He whistled.

Demyx blushed heavily through the grime coating on his face. "Dry up!" He exclaimed, trying and failing to snatch the item back.

Roxas laughed goodheartedly. "She's the bee's knee's alright, but who is she, Dem?" He finally passed the note back.

Demyx stared at it for a long time, as if wishing it could come to life and speak to him. "Her name is Mariana Remington."

The younger male coughed suddenly in surprise. "Did you just say 'Remington'?" At the other's nod, Roxas sighed and shook his head. "Stop dreaming," he muttered, "You can't have a baby vamp like her, Dem. She's a _Remington_."

"So?"

Roxas sighed indignantly. "_So_ that means she's the daughter of one of the wealthiest men in New York! You don't have anything to give her."

"I would love her faithfully."

"Well, yes, that's a good thing, but in every reality you are more than a little short on what matters: dough!" He took the book and the photograph from his friend, marking the page of one with the other and setting them on the table between himself and the older blond. "You've got a lot of life ahead of you, but you're dreaming it all away! Don't take any wood dimes, Demyx! Just stay where you're supposed to be, and you'll get through fine!"

"I don't want to get through _fine_," Demyx countered, snatching back his dime novel. "I want something better than that! This is _America_, Roxas. I'm not going to waste my opportunity." Roxas was absolutely steaming and appeared like he was about to retort, so the older blond whisked up what was left of his neglected lunch and carried off to an afternoon of factory work.

xXTheDreamerXx

Demyx walked across the Brooklyn Bridge on his way home from work, just like he did every evening. And just like every evening, he was thinking about his latest read.

There had been a girl, Marie, and her lover, Rufus. They had been wholly in love and even betrothed, but none of that really mattered. What was important was the monster in the story. Today's novel, not unlike many of the novels Demyx had been reading of late, had revolved around a suspicious demon character called a 'vampire'.

This creature of darkness lived by feasting off of the blood of human beings, surviving untouched by the sands of time for centuries invariably. However terror inducing the idea was, Demyx found it, like so many other dime novel readers, oddly romantic. He would never voice this opinion out loud, however, especially not to Roxas who was painfully down to earth and grounded, especially for someone as young as he, not yet having past the threshold into manhood: turning sixteen this spring.

The blond sighed tiredly. Tomorrow would be another day at work, and the day after that the same. This rut the man had fallen into was getting exceptionally dull, save for the precious moments where Demyx could stand in the fair Mariana's presence. She was just too beautiful, and though Roxas was probably right: he probably had no chance with her at all, the only thing holding his ever-waning hope alive was her amazing smile, and the anticipation that she might shine that treasure in his direction someday.

But the logical part of Demyx brought him back to reality all too soon. Someday was not today. Today was not good, and if he didn't make up the money he owed for those hospital trips his mother had needed in the past two years, tomorrow wasn't looking any less bleak.

He sighed again, pausing at the end of the bridge, leaning against the railing to look out into the unknown depths of the dark water, pondering.

He was unsure of when he had drifted off, but he was shaken back to reality when an unfamiliar voice spoke to him, "Excuse me sir," A stranger in a dark coat said, his hood up against the autumn chill, also concealing his face.

The blond jumped rather comically and gasped, "Y-yes sir?"

"I was wondering," The stranger was a man; this much was clear due to his voice, and a foreigner no doubt, if his odd accent was any testament. It sounded quite peculiar to the American native, who had only ever heard the accent of his mother, strong and obviously Irish, which this man was certainly not. He was a bit shorter than Demyx, but radiated an air of insightfulness that was almost eerie in the way the blond felt he should be very old. He was quite thin, and stood very straight as if he were a great businessman and not a poor immigrant. He dressed like a rich man too, and Demyx fidgeted slightly, afraid that he might be disgusting to the stranger in his filthy work shirt and faded, equally dirty trousers. "I am looking for a place called 'The Sleeping Indigo'. It's a theater that is said to be in this area, but I fear I have gotten myself a bit turned around."

"Oh, I know where that is, sir." Demyx replied politely, having regained his composure, "You're not as turned around as you think. Actually you're pretty close. Just keep going that way, to the next corner and make a right. It's on the far side of the street about halfway down the block. You can't miss it."

"Thank you, sir." The man said with a slight bow.

Demyx chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Any time, Mister. Have a nice night."

The man nodded in appreciation and began to walk away, only to turn back a few short steps later. "Please have a safe evening as well. The city streets have a reputation of being dangerous after night falls." The dark stranger advised, as if he knew much more than he could indulge. "It would be unfortunate if something were to happen to a young lad like yourself because you were dreaming on your feet."

Demyx nodded stiffly, and then watched the stranger walk until he turned the corner following Demyx's directions and was suddenly out of sight. The blond let out a slow breath. There was something odd about the man, and while the logical part of his mind (which had a tendency to sound an awful lot like Roxas) was telling him to forget it, his imagination reeled with questions, the most pressing of which being, 'Did I just meet a vampire?'

xXTheDreamerEndXx

AN: WOOWOO! Another new project! -grins- And this one is about vampires! 8D -giggles- I'm so excited! So, if you didn't catch it, this story is going to take place in New York, New York in 1922 respectively, in the very heart of the industrial revolution. This time period is known as 'The Roaring Twenties' for a number of reasons, not the least of which being the social life (jazz music and dancing was on the rise). Because I like to be realistic with my fantasy, I am currently researching life during this period, including slang terms, some of which I'm sure you noticed Roxas and Demyx using. Here's a list of some of the more unheard-of ones:

Harp: An Irishman. (Demyx's mother is Irish, and Roxas kids with him about it.)

Gams: Legs. (Roxas admires Demyx's crush's body.)

Dry up: Shut up, Get lost.

Bee's knee's: Great. (Roxas is saying that the picture is of a great girl.)

Baby vamp: A pretty or popular female.

Don't take any wood dimes: Don't do anything stupid. (Ah, Roxas, ever the voice of reason.)

So…. Yeah. I guess that just about covers it for this chapter….

Reviews are greatly appreciated, lots and lots, and I'd just like to know if there's an interest in this story. Thanks! -glomps- I actually have a written plan for this one (for once) so I'm not going to hold back updates if I don't get reviews, but you know all writers like to hear that someone is reading their work. I'm no different. (hint, hint) 8D

Oh, and one last thing: I can update in frequent short chapters, or less frequent longer ones. Is there a preference?


	2. Chapter 2 That One Night

Disclaimer: Not today.

Writer sighed dejectedly, staring at the barely six page long chapter. It was not nearly as long as she figured it should be, what for introducing something kin to plot, and all (or at least most) of the major characters before it was over. "Fiddle sticks," She murmured under her breath at the length, but figured it couldn't be helped. At the second chapter of any story, things would be going a bit slower than later on, after all. It was only natural, right?

Right?

Whit chuckled under her breath at this point, sipping her luke-warm slightly over sugared coffee. It would need to be micro-waved soon… She had returned full-steam from her 'family bonding trip' to Maryland that Sunday, but, while she had finished this chapter by then, she had been much too tired to update it yet. She wouldn't be offended if a reviewer kicked her.

Why was WAT speaking in the third person, you wonder? Has she finally gone totally mad? Her answer was not but another sip of coffee, a wild grin, and a glorious declaration of, "Yes! But I'm also doing it because this week is Prose Week, so I've been told. Just check out my DA if you want details."

Her reviewers (whom she adores to mention by name) were all given exuberant gifts of candy and glomps: **ZemyxFangirl**, and **LittleLoneLiar**. Writer would like her readers to note that she had enabled anonymous reviewers.

xXChapter Two: That One NightXx

Schemer turned the corner only to find himself face to face with a being he had truly wished he would never meet again.

"Going somewhere?" asked the obnoxiously tall vampire before Schemer, his crimson hair glowing almost as much as his acid-green eyes in the eerie glow of the nearest streetlamp. He had an even and almost tan skin tone, and two tiny tattoos on his narrow face, a symbolic upside-down teardrop like design under each eye, although Schemer knew not what they were intended to mean. He smirked wickedly down at Schemer, sizing him up no doubt, possibly for a fight.

The shorter vampire sighed irritably. "The significance in where I go to you is exactly what, Flame?"

Flame snorted. "Don't flatter yourself, dear old _friend_." He leaned against the light post casually, still smirking. "I am merely concerned as to the reason why you might try to clear potential prey from the streets the way you just did." His eyes hardened in a way that would horrify a normal person. Schemer, however, only rolled his steel-blue eyes, wholly unimpressed.

"There are others," was his only smooth reply.

"Well, _yes_, but that kid could have been a good appetizer, you know?"

Schemer shook his head, not even attempting to disguise his contempt for the man before him. "If hunting quarrels are your only business with me, I shall take my leave of you now, senseless madman."

"Oh, but it's not," The other insisted, stepping back between Schemer and his path. "I have a message to deliver from another old friend of ours." If the mischievous glint in the redhead's eyes could be any indication, this was not good news. "I have gotten word from a trusted source that _Gambler_ is back in New York."

Schemer tensed. "That's preposterous. Ratify your source. What could he possibly need here?"

Flame grinned maliciously. "I haven't a clue. But this can only mean one thing for you little Schemer: _discord_."

The blue haired man growled, his eyes narrowing to little more than slits. "Be gone from my sight at once."

"Oh, I will," Flame replied lightly, bowing spitefully, "Just as soon as you tell me what I need to know, Schemer. If the others start trouble, whose side-"

"Do not ask for my loyalty, Flame." The other interrupted. "I will fight along with no clan, regardless."

Flame rolled his bright eyes. "It's because of those humans, isn't it?" He bent down the Schemer's level to stare at him seriously. "You know what they've done, don't you? They took one of _my_ brothers and experimented on him for weeks unend, searching for a reliable way to kill us. And I'm willing to bet they found a few, for I could once hear his screams in the daytime, but of late he has been _silent_." His glare hardened venomously. "They have hunters now, Schemer, _hunters_! With crosses of silver and other unmentionable things that if they catch you, you will wish you were long ago dead." He hissed the last part urgently, as if attempting to sway the other vampire's opinion.

"This is America, Flame," Schemer replied evenly. "They have that right."

"To murder us?!"

"To strike back at those who have plagued them for centuries."

The taller man scoffed and rolled his eyes in disbelief. "So be it," He finally muttered, "Don't cry for my help when they catch you. Nor that of any of my kin." On that note, he shifted to one side, finally allowing Schemer to pass. No more words passed between the two.

xXThatOneNightXx

The girl huffed through the evening streets, blue skirts flowing behind her, matching in hue to the habit on her head that hid most of her light blond hair from view, save for the bangs that swept across her undecorated face, flushed from activity at the moment. She carried in her white gloved hands a quite large silver cross that normally hung from a long chain around her neck. At this moment, however, she clutched it to herself, ready to swing it as a weapon should the need arise.

Her name was Sister Namine Springfellow, of the convent that sat just on the edge of the city, unnoticed by most, but trusted greatly by the ones that knew of it. This was because the people there had recently distinguished a way to rid the city of the terrifying demons, the beasts, the (although they never used this word, for it was much too well known in fiction) vampires.

She shuddered at a crisp gust of wind off the dark waters, combined with her fear of the monsters she knew existed, and were probably out looking for a lone person like herself. She skidded to a stop, underneath a flickering streetlamp for a breath of air, pushing some stray hair away from her light blue eyes with a shaky sigh.

"Where _are_ you, Sister Anne?" she muttered to herself, squinting through the darkness in a search she feared would turn out fruitless. The night was painfully silent, so Namine's instant reaction to any sound was a fearful jump, followed by a readying of her only weapon and defense. She wanted nothing more than to call out to her friend, but she knew much better. Those _demons_ were doubtlessly on the prowl and it would be less than intelligent to draw attention to herself by shouting. She shivered again, wishing she had remembered to bring a jacket and rotated herself around in slow circles, so as not to get attacked from the rear.

A soft hissing sound rounded from her left and she spun about, gasping, searching for the source of the noise. Seeing nothing and hearing nothing further, the blond girl let out a shaky breath and began walking again, away from the sound, keeping her eyes pealed at all times for a sign of Sister Anne.

She let out a sharp scream when someone grabbed her from behind pulling her off the ground and throwing her into the side of a nearby building quite unceremoniously. Namine hit the ground with a grunt, but wasted no time twisting around to face her attacker, cross clutched desperately in her hands.

There was a man before her, relatively tall with paper-white skin and long blue tinted hair. He stared at her with demon-like yellow eyes for a tense moment before speaking, his voice cold and darker than the night that surrounded them. "What might a dame like you be doing out alone at night?"

Namine could barely breathe from fear, but none the less, she clambered to her feet and stood, knees bent slightly ready to flee at the first worthy chance. She glared at the dark man stonily, and replied in a tone of forced calm, "There was once a time when a woman could walk down the street at any time without getting attacked."

The man said nothing at first, but when he did speak again, it was only more frightening than before. "And when was that, Sister? Surely you are much too young to know with any certainty."

Namine gasped again, the beast was coming closer, ever so slowly, and it occurred to her that she could never outrun him. Hardly even eighteen years of age and she was about to die… In the most horrible way she could possibly imagine. She wanted to cry, she wanted to scream, and Lord knew, she wanted to run, even knowing she could not escape. It sure was a pity her legs refused to budge an inch.

He took another step towards her, smirking lustfully at her trembling lip. The young nun shrieked, pulling her fists in front of herself violently in an automatic form of defense. She was as surprised as the monster was when he sprung away from her hissing in pain and clutching at his face. The Sister looked at her fists in wonder, praising the Good Lord that she still had her cross with her. She swung it around threateningly, having regained her grounding and the use of her legs, striking at the creature once more, slashing a second burning red mark across his pale face, leaving him to scream in agony at the x-shaped gash on his forehead that would probably never fade.

She burst into a run sprinting as far from the beast as she could, finding herself in a well-lit courtyard, her heart still racing from the adrenalin of mere moments before. She took a deep breath and crossed herself abruptly. "Bring peace to the lost lambs, I bid thee give rest to the fangs of the wolf and call the hammer of death onto the devil." She took a slow, deep breath. "Amen."

Running footsteps somewhere behind her caused her to spin about, wide-eyed and ready to scream, silver cross held firmly in her shaking hand. She relaxed a moment later however, to see the familiar face of Sister Anne running in her direction.

Sister Anne was a short and rather stocky girl, about Namine's age, with very short, almost boyish brown hair and matching eyes that were currently shining with unshed tears. "Namine!" She called, looking like she was very nearly going to faint on the spot. "Thank goodness you're alright! I heard you scream and I thought-" She stopped shot at her friend's soft, slightly shaky laugh.

"The silver cross is effective." Namine said simply, placing the item back to its normal place around her neck.

Anne sighed. "The silver bullets had no such luck. It seems what we have read about the silver intolerance was wrong."

Namine nodded shortly. "Are you okay?" at Anne's silent nod, the blond Sister nodded herself, before saying, "Let's get a cab and go home. I've had more than enough excitement for one evening, I think."

"And how!" Anne agreed breathlessly.

xXThatOneNightXx

"Mama!" Demyx called, walking into his small, but quaint home. The interior was scantily furnished, with not but an old sofa courtesy of a neighbor and a rickety coffee table, one of the legs of which was so much shorter than the others, Demyx's mother had stacked two dime novels underneath it so it wouldn't tip. There was a rug on the floor beneath those items and another one in each of the tiny bedrooms, both of which had a bed and a dresser and not much else, for the rooms would not fit much. The kitchen was galley-styled and outdated, but it served its purpose faithfully. One modern comfort Demyx and his widowed mother took advantage of was heat, which poured from the wood stove all winter long.

The blond young man sighed contently, as happy as one could be with a home he could barely afford on a factory worker's salary. Demyx thought of himself as being quite fortunate. At least he never ran out of money to put supper on the table. He had met some children half his age in the factory that summer who were there because their mothers couldn't bear to see them starve any longer, yet could not make enough on their own to support them.

Madam Christopher, also referred to as Mary, was much younger than she appeared, as illness had stolen from her her health in the recent years, and still wracked her body with pain as her son worked for their food and house. She was a small and round woman, with very dark brown hair, speckled with grey prematurely. She had a wide and cheerful smile, even as she battled with the illness that would take her from her only son before she would see grandchildren. Her eyes were a bright and determined shade of green, not unlike those of her son's, whom she was endlessly proud of.

He had grown so well, so strong in mind and body, even without a father to guide him. Mister Christopher, a brilliant young man in his time, freshly married to Mary some twenty five years previously, had been killed shortly after she had come pregnant with the boy. He had been murdered ruthlessly on the streets in the dark of night in the wintertime. The culprit was never caught. For this reason, Madam Christopher could never rest until Demyx was safely home after work, for fear of waking in the morning to find him missing, and by that time, already dead.

Demyx smiled brightly at his mother when he met her gaze, having waddled out of her bedroom hurriedly, still clothed in her clean blue housedress from that day, her hair pulled from her pale face loosely.

"How are you feeling today?" he asked lightly, pecking the woman on the cheek before washing his hands thoroughly in the kitchen sink.

"Much better, thank you," said she in a very strong Irish dialect, tutting at the state of his shirt and trousers, which had grown to be nearly two inches too short. "What am I going to do with you?" She chided playfully, smacking his arm lovingly. "You grow like a weed!"

"Sorry, Mama," The son replied sheepishly, drying his now clean hands on a pale blue and white striped dish towel, tuning back to face the woman, whom he was already some four inches taller than. "I should be nearly done growing, though, so I'll just wear these things to work a little longer, and by Christmas, I'll have worked up enough for some new trousers, at least."

The woman sighed heavily. "Oh, the state my boy has got to!" She took up his hands strongly, smiling a supportive, very mother-like kind of smile. "But his father would be proud, I dare say. What with taking such good care of his ailing old mama!"

"You're not old." Demyx insisted stubbornly, at which his mother chuckled and released his hands.

"Go clean up. I'll warm up some supper."

Demyx did as he was told. Demyx _always_ did as he was told when it was his mother speaking. She was simply his everything, his _only thing_. He had never known his father, and that side of the family, although he had been told were wealthy, were never to be seen themselves. He used to wonder what his grandparents would be like, as his mother's parents had died on the ship to this country many years ago when Mary had been a small child, but not anymore. He was now convinced and determined to survive without them. He didn't need their pity, or their money (regardless of what the hospital bills stated). He was a man now, and it was time to act the part.

But he _had_ been acting the part. For nearly ten years. Every stage gets old. Even ones that mean so much as this line did. He sighed as he washed the filth from his face and neck, drying off, and then loosening and removing his suspenders, leaving them to hang uselessly from his waist. He sighed again, not because he was annoyed, but because he could think of nothing better to do and returned to the main room where Mary had heated his supper on the stovetop. At least the day was over.

Little did Demyx know that this would be the beginning of the end of everything remotely normal in what had been his simple, live-from-day-to-day life.

xXThatOneNightEndXx

Whit winked at her friends in excitement. "In any case," she added in one last note, "The next stop is PoS!" Then she sat in her chair for a moment, thinking deeply, frowning slightly. "Whoa…" She murmured under her breath, "We're going from _this_ to current-day AU _high school_ fic?" One dark brown hued eyebrow raised towards her hairline, matching in hue. "Brain going into shock, much?"


End file.
